December 27th, 2005, 5:19 pm

Airport wifi still kinda sucks

Recently written in Atlanta’s airport

God bless Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International airport for at last offering wifi.

But with a catch!

You’ve three options:

a) a Boingo 2-for-one (two day pass) for $9.95.
b) Wifi Zone’s 24 hour pass for $7.95
c) or, use an existing Sprint WiFi account.

All well and good for a blogger with a longass layover. But what about us news junkies that’ve got about 15 minutes before our flight, but we’ve still got an email to send, a post to update, or a website to put back together?

All I’m saying is - a micropayment system with smaller chunks of time would be appreciated by one LauraFries.com.

Written in Phoenix, Arizona, two weeks later.

Wow — micropayments seem kinda weak. Tampa International — in addition to being one of the world’s most organized airports … gave me free, all over wifi access.

Phoenix’s Sky Harbor just added — as of Dec 19, 2005 — free wifi …. but with a catch. I can’t use my Mail program to send or receive mail, nor can I use my chat program. I’m no technie, but I’m sure this is some security measure to prevent me from sending files.

I can blog all I want …. as long as I don’t need to upload new images.

Layover From The Past

Somehow, this one never got posted ….

11a.m.

Another Sunday at the airport. This time, I skipped that nasty Paschal’s … and went straight for the Miller Lite Victory Lane. What a sad life it is that I was thinking about Victory Lane as soon as I got to the airport?

So here, in the airport cafe … pondering over my choices this afternoon. My neighbor is eating a succulent chili dog; his thick weiner is absolutely smothered in hot meaty chili, and to tell the truth — I’m tempted. Around me are plates and platters of pickles piled high with nachos, salsa and bad sandwiches. There’s this horrible little baby in front of me … one of the ones that’s in its grabby phase … and the thing keeps making these horrible noises and squinty faces and I’m worried that I’m watching it take a shit. Not that there’s anything wrong with that — ordinarily — but this place doesn’t serve beer until 12 and I don’t think I could watch that stone sober.

The ulimate Florida man is hunched in the corner, reading Carl Hiassen. He’s got the requisite white pants and pink polo shirt, and one of his saggy man boobs has risen to the occasion, with a hard nipple peeking out from the crook of his arm, where his breast rests.

Here in the South, women still have those bangs that are basically just a crown of fur erupting from their foreheads — those 80s bangs that spray out from their scalp to give them at least a two inch advantage in the pageant. Yikes! Cease procreating!

Wait — I totally remembered what this horrible little baby looks like! It’s like the dinosaur baby puppet from that show … shit, what was that called? The nasty little baby with fat, rolly arms that declared “I’m the baby!” while banging its spoon against its high chair? The Dinosaurs!